


tell me whether he is dead

by LullabyKnell



Series: LullabyKnell and the Harry Potter Fics [15]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5+ AU Headcanons, 5+1 Things, Angst and Humor, Creepy, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Haunting, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Master of Death Harry Potter, Not Epilogue Compliant, Oblivious Harry Potter, POV Harry Potter, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Canon, Post-Deathly Hallows, Post-Deathly Hallows AU, Side Effects, Wakes & Funerals, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:10:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9191315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LullabyKnell/pseuds/LullabyKnell
Summary: Post-DH AU: Harry suffers a few side-effects of dying but not dying.“Hey, can someone help me with this? The mirror in the bedroom’s stopped working for me."“What do you mean ‘the mirror’s stopped working’?”





	1. Shiver

**Author's Note:**

> “You,” said Voldemort, and there was a bang and a small shriek of pain. “Examine him. **Tell me whether he is dead**."  
>  \- J.K. Rowling, _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_
> 
> So... in which Harry sort of becomes a supernatural presence and haunts everybody he knows... and sort of fails to notice what exactly is up. The prompt for this probably intended a way angstier fic but... oops? Fluff/humor with a side of light angst. Whoopsie daisy. (This could potentially be read, as it was kind of written, as Harry/Ron/Hermione.)

Touch makes things realer. The magical world has been fooled too many times and they are desperate not to be fooled again. Many people don’t even seem to realize that they are reaching out towards the Boy-Who-Lived and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, to feel for themselves that Harry Potter is alive and Voldemort is truly dead. 

Well... most do not dare to truly go anywhere near Voldemort’s corpse, even as their eyes reach towards the fallen body. But they look, they stare, and they watch and watch and watch. As though Voldemort’s mortality with cease being real the moment all eyes leave him. 

They definitely dare come near Harry, however, to reassure themselves this is real. They take his hand and shake it for far too long, holding on too tightly, shaking it too quickly or not at all. They snatch him up in tight hugs before he can protest, squeezing tightly. They slap him on the back as he goes by, pat him on the shoulder as he passes, and latch onto his arm as they repeat their endless thanks for what he’s done. 

And they look too, they stare, and they watch and watch and watch. People’s eyes follow Harry wherever he goes, fixed to his scar and face and self, enough to make his skin prickle at the feeling. He should be used to the staring by now, but it’s never been anything like this before. 

He can hear whispers all around him, as he stands in the Great Hall and talks with the other Order members about what to do with the dead, the injured, the captured, and so on. He should be used to the whispers too, following him wherever he goes, but... it’s  _really_ never been anything like this before and... he thinks that it’s more than the fact that he’s finally defeated Voldemort for good and apparently survived certain death for a second time. 

Because when Kingsley took his hand and shook it, the man... trembled. He didn’t frown or cower, too busy being utterly relieved that the fight seemed to be over, but when they touched... Kingsley  _shuddered_ like he’d been overtaken by a sudden chill. 

But then again, maybe that’s not too strange. Harry has to repress trembling hands and a painful shudder every time he glances towards the bodies of the fallen. When his mind involuntarily flickers back to the Pensieve, to the walk, to the Forest, to King’s Cross Station... Harry often fights and fails to contain a terrible tremble. He can still see flashes of green light behind his eyes. 

But then again... the same sort of thing has been happening to more or less  _everyone_ of the many people who have sought him out and touched him. None of them say anything about it, too busy thanking Harry profusely, but their first brush of physical contact with Harry has them all shuddering or flinching like they just walked through a ghost. Some of them have even sneezed or coughed like they did just that, oddly enough. 

Mrs. Weasley, when she hugged him, declared that he was  _freezing!_ She demanded he put on a sweater immediately. Harry was already wearing a sweater and didn’t at all feel like he needed one, so he just promised he’d use a warming charm. He still hasn’t used that warming charm, though, because he feels fine. 

A little bruised, yeah. A little shaky, definitely. But cold? Not really. 

After he’s had his fill of discussing the technicalities of clean-up, of being surrounded by admirers, Harry wanders off with McGonagall’s encouragement to get some much-needed rest. He doesn’t know where to go to get some rest, though, so he ends up walking about under his Invisibility Cloak until he finds Ron and Hermione off in a corner off of the Hall, on a bench against a wall. Ron is sitting upright with his eyes closed, long legs stretched out and head back against the wall, and Hermione is sleeping, curled up into a ball with her head in Ron’s lap, only frowning a little. They look as exhausted as he feels.

Ron’s eyes open, blearily, at the rustling of the Invisibility Cloak as Harry removes it. He gives Harry a tired sort of smile and opens his mouth to say something but ends up yawning instead. 

Harry takes the opportunity to drop down next to Ron and lean into his best friend’s side. It is a fact universally acknowledged and already being put into use by Hermione that Ron makes an excellent pillow - always has. Besides, Harry could do with some physical contact with his best friends, somewhere quiet and isolated, away from the eyes and hands of people he doesn’t know, barely knows, and isn’t comfortable being touched by. 

Ron goes stiff as Harry leans into him, though. At this reaction, Harry also goes stiff and frowns up at his best friend. 

“What?”

“Fuck, mate, you’re  _freezing,”_ Ron says. 

Harry frowns, because he’s heard that a lot and he’s not cold. “Sorry,” he says, wondering what on earth is going on. 

He makes to lean away, but Ron’s already lifted an arm up, wrapped it around Harry’s shoulders to pull him close, and closed his eyes again. Harry ends up with his head on Ron’s shoulder, tucked comfortably under his best friend’s arm, with his Invisibility Cloak strewn over his lap. Ron is definitely noticeably warmer than he is and Harry sinks into the warmth, despite still not feeling all that cold.  

“Nah, it’s fine,” Ron says. 

Harry closes his eyes too and drifts off into sleep for the first time in over a day. Sleep comes curiously fast, seemingly within seconds. The last thing he remembers is Ron giving a shiver like someone had walked over his grave. 


	2. Reflection

It’s been a week since the Battle of Hogwarts and Harry is certain that something’s wrong with him. Ron and Hermione haven’t said it, but he can tell they think there’s something wrong with him too. The problem is that none of them can put a finger on why exactly. It’s just been... little things... not nearly enough to make a mountain out of, not next to everything else. 

They’ve rented a small apartment in Ottery St. Catchpole for the next few months or so. Close to the extremely crowded Burrow, but somewhere that is still private and comfortable, safely just the three of them and safely new. No more tents, no more camping, but... not apart again... not yet. There’s no Floo and one bedroom, which they all share with the help of Extension Charms and the occasional sleeping bag, but it’s a good enough temporary home. 

Or... well... it would be if it weren’t apparently haunted. Hermione is kind of furious about it, with herself for not noticing when she rented it and with their hedgewitch landlady for not letting them know. 

So far it’s just little signs of a haunting, like flickering lights when people enter or leave rooms, or items disappearing and reappearing somewhere else. Unexplained noises like knocks or footsteps that don’t belong to anyone, or doors and cabinets opening and closing on their own (they checked with him and Kreacher swears he’s not sneaking in to clean, too busy at Hogwarts). Ron swears he saw some unexplained shadows the other day, though, and Hermione is certain there’s a persisting presence and whispers now, so maybe it was ignorable before. Even if it was only a small haunting before, though, it would have been polite to let renters know. 

Harry is busy getting dressed for today’s set of funerals while Hermione rants at Ron in the other room. He’s taking longer than he should, but he doesn’t know which of his few ties to wear. He knows which one he wants to wear, but he trying to decide whether or not people will think he’s rude and how much he cares if people think he’s rude. 

Eventually, he settles on  _probably_ and  _not even a little bit,_ and picks up his Gryffindor House tie to wear. However, when he looks up at the bedroom mirror to be able to see what he’s doing - if he’s going to wear a potentially inappropriate tie, he’s at least going to wear it properly - he’s not there. He doesn’t have a reflection - everything else is there, but he isn’t, like he isn’t in the room at all. Like he doesn’t exist. 

 Harry stares and stares and... stares. This has never happened to him before and he needs a moment to reassure himself that he does exist and isn’t wearing his Invisibility Cloak or anything. Huh. Either this is a prank mirror or their haunting problem really is getting worse. 

 With a shrug, Harry leaves the bedroom to join Ron and Hermione at the door. Hermione is still ranting about how she heard someone moving about in their apartment last night, while they were all trying to sleep, and Ron is listening with an intent sort of frown. 

“Hey, can someone help me with this? The mirror in the bedroom’s stopped working for me,” Harry says, holding up his tie. “Before anyone says anything, I do know how to tie a tie, I just don’t want it to be crooked.” 

“Yeah, c’mere, mate, I’ll do it,” Ron says. He takes the tie from Harry’s hand and gets to work. “What do you mean ‘the mirror’s stopped working’, though?”

“I don’t have a reflection. Just me, oddly enough, nothing else. I don’t remember that being one of the normal signs of a haunting?” 

Ron frowns again, deeper. “Me neither,” he says. “Weird. ‘Mione?” 

“I’ve never heard about that happening to the victims of a haunting before,” Hermione says, wearing a frown of her own. “It sounds familiar, though, in some related fashion. I’ll have to look into it.” 

“Later,” Ron reminds her. “We’ve got to get going now, if we want to be on time.” 

“I know that.” 

“I’m just saying. You’re perfume’s nice, by the way.” 

“I’m not wearing perfume, Ron.” 

“Coulda sworn I can smell perfume, though,” Ron says, frowning yet again, as he opens the door for both her and Harry. “You can’t smell that? Harry, you wearing any?” 

“Well, you know me, always wearing perfume everywhere, especially to funerals.” 

“Can just say no, mate.” 


	3. Perfume

Colin Creevey’s funeral is not the most crowded that Harry’s attended this week, but it’s definitely not without a crowd. Beyond the Creevey family and family friends, a lot of DA members are there, including Neville, Ginny, and Luna, along with several Hogwarts professors. 

Harry hasn’t asked, but he doesn’t think Minerva McGonagall has missed a single funeral or memorial for a fallen Hogwarts student. They might as well say, ‘See you at the next one,’ instead of regular goodbyes at this point. He has no idea how she’s doing it. 

It is a bit unexpected to see Horace Slughorn at this one, however. Harry’s seen the man at a few so far, but he wouldn’t have thought that Slughorn was particularly aware of or attached to Colin. Maybe he’s underestimating the man, though, because Slughorn looks truly and deeply miserable here. 

Harry goes about saying his hellos to everyone, not missing the way everyone still shudders at his apparently cold touch. He meets the Creevey parents for the first time, greets Dennis, and apologizes sincerely for their loss. He might have found Colin a little annoying at first, but Colin grew up and stood so very firm in his goodness, and Harry is proud to wear his Gryffindor tie with the knowledge that he shared a House with someone so unapologetically bright and brave. 

“Ah, Harry,” Slughorn says, when they finally cross each other after the service. He, like so many others, shudders slightly but doesn’t comment when Harry shakes his hand. “Such a sad occasion to meet, eh, my boy?” 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, then because he’s curious says, “I didn’t know you were at all close to Colin, sir.” 

Slughorn, instead of being offended like Harry worried, smiles a weary sort of smile. “Unexpected, eh, Harry? The boy had a marvelous knack for potions, you know, truly marvelous. Brewing years above his age since first year, apparently, all because of his photography hobby. Took some wonderful portraits, you know.” 

Harry hadn’t, really. Colin had always been a passing sort of friend, rather than a close one. As the years went on, their passing friendship had solidified through the DA and by each being friends with Ginny, but still... they hadn’t been the sort of people to ask each other about their day. 

“I’d always thought I’d get my portrait painted, you know, but if that boy had continued with his art, I probably would have commissioned him,” Slughorn continues, wistfully, a little wetly. “Talent and innovation in spades... always surprises me, these brilliant muggleborn children... it’s such a shame, you know, my boy... such a shame they never get to... well...” 

 Slughorn trails off, but he really doesn’t need to say it. Harry dismisses considering whether or not to be a little angry at Slughorn for the muggleborn comment when the man takes out a handkerchief and looks to be working hard not to start weeping into it. He’s much thinner after the past stress of this last Hogwarts year, honestly, hair whiter and lines deeper in his face. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, my boy... all these memories of mine...” Slughorn says, blowing his nose into the handkerchief. “Your mother wore that exact same perfume, you know - every day, after she learned to brew it in her first year. Always knew when she’d been by.” 

Harry opens his mouth to... he doesn’t know. He didn’t know that his mother ever wore perfume, much less a unique and extremely recognizable one. He’d be touched if not for the fact that he isn’t actually wearing perfume. 

Before he can say anything, however, Professor McGonagall joins them to take Professor Slughorn away to rest, just as the man hitches on something very like a sob. They bid their farewells to Harry, then she takes the older man by the arm and leads him away. Slughorn goes, blowing his nose, reminiscing about the days when McGonagall was a student in his classes. 

Harry shrugs it off, and goes to find Ron and Hermione. 


	4. Voice

Andromeda Tonks is someone that Harry dearly wishes he had been given the chance to know sooner. Though she shares facial features with the late and loathsome Bellatrix Lestrange, she is not at all like her sisters. If anyone, Andy reminds Harry of Tonks and... dare he say it... Sirius. 

They finally met properly at the many funerals for which they have shared attendance - Remus, Tonks, and Ted. Andromeda walked right up to Harry, introduced herself with a ‘Call me Andy, my fool of a mother named me Andromeda’ (which Harry is sure was said to make him laugh) and introduced Harry to his little pink-haired godson. 

Harry now has a standing invitation to the Tonks house, but it is demanded that he attend tea on Thursdays. Every day without exception. It is an appointment that Harry intends to keep and keeps gladly. 

Edward Remus Lupin, better known as Teddy, is two things: firstly, a delight, and secondly, trouble. Harry had not thought that a baby barely two months old could be such trouble, but he was so wrong. Teddy can’t  _move,_ but he’s loud, he blends into furniture and the walls and the floor, and he spits up everything, and Harry is absolutely delighted. He’s never been around a baby before and though it’s a lot of work, Teddy might just be the  _cutest thing_ he has ever seen. Harry loves him so much it feels like his heart might burst. 

Harry lets himself in to the Tonks house for his second Thursday tea and fifth visit. Andy had told him on his first visit to always just come in, that the door would know who he was, and to shout for her after he’d gotten himself out of whatever the weather was. 

“Hello?” Harry calls. “Anyone home?” 

He isn't expecting how someone inside the house clearly  _sprints_ for the front hallways, all heavy footsteps and creaks. When Andromeda flings herself into the hallway from the kitchen with her wand raised, Harry has his own wand raised and at the ready on reflex. 

“Oh,” Andy says, after a moment. “Harry.” She doesn’t lower her wand. “What’s my grandson’s nickname?” 

“Moonling,” Harry answers promptly. He babbled a lot at Teddy when they first met and that silly nickname is apparently sticking. “Is something wrong?” 

“Oh... no... It’s just a bit of paranoia, I suppose,” Andy answers, finally lowering her wand. “Hello, Harry, how are you?” 

“Alright,” Harry says. He lowers his wand, but he doesn’t manage to lower his stare. Andy looks... she looks like she’s seen a ghost. “Really, what was it? Did I set off some sort of alarm or something? I’ve been doing that lately, apparently. Sorry.” 

“No, it’s... do you have any Metamorphagus talent?” 

Harry blinks, a little taken aback by the question. “Not that I know of,” he says, “I’m pretty sure no.” He frowns, remembering several incidents over the past few weeks. “If you don’t mind... why?”  

Andy sighs, putting a hand to her forehead for a moment. “I must be hearing things... you don’t sound anything alike...” She takes a deep breath, running a sharp stare over him. “For a moment, I thought it was Nymphadora’s voice calling out. Has this happened before for you?” 

“Actually, yeah. Is there some sort of spell where you sound like other people? Ron was convinced I had Fred’s voice the other day and Luna said the same about her mother. It’s been... weird.” 

“...I imagine,” Andy said, after a moment. “I know there are spells to make you sound like a particular person, or intentional greater voice variance, but... not like that. I’ve never heard of a spell like that.” 

Harry let out an internal groan. “Story of my life, these past few weeks. Sorry if anything weird happens. Our apartment’s a bit haunted and we have no idea what’s causing it,” he explains. “It’s… harmless… we think, but annoying… like that.”

“Hmm.” 

“Sorry, I can go.” 

“No, no, come in and see Teddy. He’ll be so excited to see you.”  

“He was more excited to chew his foot the other day.” 

“Hey, if you think that's ego-devastating, Grandma ranked below ballpoint pen this morning.” 


	5. Breathe

“Harry! Harry, no!” 

Harry comes awake with a gasp, the memory of green light flashing behind his eyelids. It takes him a moment to realize he’s in the apartment bedroom, on the bed, with Ron and Hermione beside him, both staring at him with wide eyes. Oh fuck, must have been another nightmare. 

“Sorry,” Harry mutters, running a hand down his face. 

Instead of the usual platitudes, the usual understanding, when one of them has a nightmare, Ron and Hermione keep staring. More than a little unnerved, Harry fumbles for his glasses and the light. When he’s better able to see, he notices that Hermione is trembling and Ron’s freckles are standing out starkly against his face. 

“...What?” Harry says. 

“You weren’t  _breathing,”_ Hermione says. 

“I... what?” 

“I told you,” Ron says, looking towards Hermione. Harry’s best friends argue all the time, but it’s a rare moment when one of them doesn’t seem at all happy about winning one. “I told you this happens when he’s sleeping!” 

“I don’t... what?” 

Ron looks at him, pale and serious. “You don’t breathe when you sleep, mate. You haven’t for at least two days. Maybe... longer.” 

Harry is usually the first to wake up and the last to go to bed. And now that he’s thinking about it, he has no idea if breathing is a thing he notices Ron and Hermione do. If he hasn’t been breathing when he sleeps, then... 

“What?” he says again. 

“Harry, we know what’s haunting our house,” Hermione says. “It’s  _you.”_


	6. Haunted

They relocate to the dining room, where Ron can anxiously putter about the kitchen and serve them tea as though that’ll fix things. Harry sits down at the small dining table, staring wide-eyed at Hermione, as though just staring at her will explain what the hell is going on. 

“I’m... I’m haunting the apartment?” Harry asks finally. 

Ron, standing at the kitchen counter, and Hermione, sitting across from him, exchange one of their  _looks._ Harry has seen them exchange a lot of  _looks_ over the past week. He knew something was coming his way, but this? 

“You’re  _always_ cold, mate,” Ron says, first. 

“The lights thing happens when  _you_ enter and exit rooms,” Hermione adds. 

“You smell like strange things sometimes? For no reason?” 

“Perfume, usually. Sometimes wet dog.” 

“ _Everything_ creaks around you.”

“Or slams. Twice.” 

“You have weird shadows, sometimes? Like with two heads... or wings... or just... bones once,” Ron says, with a faint shudder. “Or no shadow at all, more than once. A lot, actually.” 

“And you don’t have reflections anymore,” Hermione points out, with a very pointed sort of look. 

“Only sometimes!” Harry protests weakly. “Not... all the time.” 

“Like when it’s just your eyes glowing like the Killing Curse?” Ron says, pouring tea for the three of them. “Like you told us yesterday? Mate, that’s not better. That’s really, really not better.” 

Harry wants to protest, but... he really can’t. He definitely would rather see no reflection at all than see that again. 

“Sometimes your eyes glow like the A.K., too,” Ron adds. 

Harry looks between his best friends, confused and maybe a little bit terrified. Ron and Hermione look even worse than he feels, which makes him feel even worse about this whole thing. 

“What... what else?” Harry asks. 

“The other day, on the couch, after you left the room, I could still feel your arm around me for half-an-hour,” Hermione admits. “And sometimes your voice keeps talking after you’ve stopped... or even after you’ve left the room. Just... like random little things... Quidditch talk... recipes... grocery lists... mostly Quidditch talk, actually.” 

Ron nods. “You reminded me not to leave the toilet seat up a few days ago, when you weren’t even in the house. Just... your disembodied voice... scolding me in a whisper. Scared the hell out of me.” 

“Uh... sorry?” Harry has no memory of doing any of that. 

“And you were always messing with the radio! I can’t use Dad’s housewarming gift because you were always messing with the switches or the volume!” Ron exclaims, setting the tea on the table for them. “Or you’d just make it do the static thing if you were in the room!” 

Harry never once touched that radio. Not once. “So... the radio’s not actually broken?” 

“Nah, you were fucking with it.” 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“Sometimes objects move or levitate around you,” Hermione muses. “But... that’s more normal magic.”

“The entire living room?” Ron asks, taking a seat. "That's not normal." 

Harry frowns. “When was this?” 

“Usually when you’re cooking. Singing too, usually.” 

“That one’s not too bad,” Hermione says. 

“Yeah, it’s kinda cute,” Ron agrees, smiling towards Harry, before his tone turns more serious. “The bad stuff is when you talk in dead people’s voices. You at least noticed that one, right, mate? I know that’s happened a lot and at least Luna and Andy told you. I told you, I think.” 

“Yeah, you... did. Sorry.” 

Ron reaches across the table to take his hand, prompting Harry to look up from his lap and back at his best friends. There’s still a bit of fear and uncertainty there, in both their expressions, but now there’s quite a bit of sympathy and reassurance. 

“It’s not your fault,” Ron says. “We know it isn’t.” 

“Why... why is this happening to me?” 

Hermione’s hands fiddle nervously in her lap. “Well... we don’t actually know. This has never happened before. You show a lot of symptoms or effects of, well, the undead.” 

Harry stares at her... and stares... and stares. 

“...I’m dead?” 

“No!” Hermione says, alarmed. 

“Well, maybe a little bit,” Ron corrects and Hermione thwaps him on the chest. “What? C’mon, ‘Mione." He looks back towards Harry. "I think it’s a side-effect of... whatever the fuck went down in the Forest with you... y’know...”  

“Dying but not dying?” Harry suggests, a little hoarsely. 

“Yeah. That.” 

“It  _could_ be,” Hermione says. “We don’t know for sure, though. Don’t worry, Harry, we’re going to figure this one out and help you.”

“...Oh...” Harry says, still a little stunned. “Okay.” 

Ron and Hermone exchange another look between them, then Hermione reaches out so that her hands are covering both his and Ron’s. Both of them look at him, a little afraid and very earnest, smiling as best they can. Harry smiles back, a little weakly. 

“Okay,” he says again. 

Ron smiles widens and he says, “Good. And if you don’t get better, we’ll just keep learning to live with this. And you’re gonna have to start wearing really thick socks to bed because your feet are fucking  _freezing.”_

“Ron!” 

“Look, just because  _you_ don’t sleep next to him doesn’t mean it’s not a serious problem!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!
> 
> This honestly could have been SUCH angst. But I kind of wanted Haunted!Harry as nonsense and fluff, so this is what happened. In the magical world, I imagine you just learn to roll with this sort of thing. "Oh yeah, that's Harry, he's sort of undead but we love him." Etc. This was such fun nonsense. I might write snippets for this universe in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> [Rec link on tumblr](https://lullabyknell.tumblr.com/post/155374317223)


End file.
